"Now, by Saint Iago! thou art some juggling knave--some impish
charlatan, who seeks to conceal his imposture in the garb of mystery
and terror. Little knowest thou the mettle of a Castilian heart. Thy
name?"

The stranger stooped forward, and whispered a word or two in the ear
of his companion. The young man recoiled, while his cheek turned from
the glowing tinge of health and indignation to the hue of ashes; and,
as he stood, rooted to the spot in terror and dismay, the stranger
threw the hem of his cloak over his shoulder, and glided away like a
dark shadow.

Julio's heart was so far enlisted in favor of Magdalena, that it cost
him a severe struggle to throw her off as utterly unworthy of his
attachment, but pride came to his rescue, and he performed his task.
He wrote a letter, in which, assigning no cause for the procedure, he
calmly, coldly, contemptuously renounced her hand, and told her that
henceforth, should they meet, it must be as strangers.

This unexpected blow almost paralyzed Magdalena's reason. It was to be
expected of her temperament that her anguish should be in proportion
to her former rapture. At first stunned, she roused to the paroxysm of
wild despair. Henceforth, if she lived, her life, she felt, would be
an utter blank. Passion completely overmastering her reason, she
resolved to destroy herself. This fearful resolution adopted, her
excitement ceased. She became calm--calm as the senseless stone; no
tremors shook her soul, no remorse, no regret.

She was seated alone, one evening, at that very window whence she had
first beheld her false suitor, and bitter memories were crowding on